Warren and Illyana, Monday afternoon

[x-snowflake.livejournal.com]

Warren goes to talk to Illyana about Piotr. Things do not go well, as might be expected. She is sarcastic, and he leaves.



As Warren walked down the corridor to Illyana's door, the knot in his stomach tightened. He was having second thoughts. Truth was, Illyana scared him. And they'd never been close to begin with. There was a very good chance that this wouldn't go well. But he knew he couldn't see Piotr looking that sad and not at least try to do something about it... The worst that could happen had already happened, anyway. There was nowhere to go but up. He took a deep breath and knocked.

Illyana glanced up from her book, blinking as her train of thought collided violently with reality. It was probably someone looking for Terry or Jubilee, she figured; she didn't get many visitors these days. Not that she was complaining. "Yes?" she called, putting her book down on the floor and sitting up.

"Illyana, it's me. Can I come in?" Warren called through the door. It took effort to keep his voice sounding casual and cheerful. He didn't feel any less nervous now that he was here.

Him. Hooray. She made a face at the closed door and then composed herself, becoming very still and very calm quite suddenly. "If you want," she replied diffidently.

He pushed open the door and forced a smile at her. "How's it going?" he asked, taking a seat at Terry's desk. "Um... What're you reading, there?"

"Fine," she said, with a bland smile of her own. She glanced down at her forgotten book. "It's just some Russian history. Lenin to Stalin, at the moment." She looked at him steadily, willing to take control of the situation if the opportunity presented itself.

"Oh, that's nice. Sounds very interesting," he said lightly. He nodded and glanced around the room. "So..." he started after a pause.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Would you perhaps have a topic in mind?" she asked, lacing her voice with heavy irony. Of course he was probably here to talk about Piotr -- what else? It's not as though there was anything else they had to discuss.

He chewed on his lip a bit before finally looking up to meet her gaze. "I don't think it comes as any big surprise to you that I came to discuss Piotr... He told me everything that's happened, and he's really, really upset." He sighed. "Do you want to... I don't know. Tell me what happened? Talk about it? I hate to see the two of you like this."

"Ah." She smiled. "You've come here to get me to share my feelings. Great! That's fantastic. My feelings are this: Piotr decided that he deserved to know everything about me. That made me feel irritated. Then he disowned me because I wouldn't tell him, and I was annoyed that I didn't think of it first. Now you're here ostensibly to fix things, and I am confused, because I think things are just fine as they are. Questions?" She smiled at him again, flashing her teeth for a moment, and thanking the gods that she'd learned to channel her inner teenager since coming here. She could play this with the best of them.

Warren blinked. No outright hostility, true, but he didn't have to be a genius to know that this was not going well. "All I'm saying is that he's really upset about this, and isn't there any way for you to maybe patch things up a bit? You don't have to be best friends or anything, but come on. This is just a big misunderstanding." He shrugged at her unhappily. "Look, I'll talk to him, tell him to stop prying so much, and can't you at least let him know that his sister doesn't hate him?"

"I always make a habit of begging to be undisowned," she said pleasantly. "I find it does wonders for my self-esteem and reputation." She gave him an arch look. "In other words, there is no way in any hell that I'm going to talk to him, whether or not he comes to me first. You talk to him. Isn't that what you're for, other than -- well." She left it at that, just bordering on insulting rather than jumping in with her eyes closed, and watched him carefully for a reaction.

Ignoring her rude comment, Warren plowed on. "I am not asking you to beg. I'll have him come talk to you if you'd prefer. Or I'd be more than happy to act as a go-between, if it would help any." He kept his voice steady, although she was really starting to get on his nerves. This is for Piotr, he reminded himself.

She kept smiling pleasantly. "Not interested. Since I'm dead to him and all, I think I'd prefer to spend time being social with people who don't make Miles and Artie look like mature old gentlemen."

"It's not irreversible," he pointed out. "But fine. I see you're not interested in talking to him." Warren stood up and smoothed his shirt. "If you ever change your mind, Illyana, you know where my room is."

"Gosh," she said, leaning back on her elbows, "it only took you a few tries to figure it out. I guess you're what amounts to an academic in these parts." Her smile grew a fraction colder. "Why don't you go and tell Piotr how sorry you are he has such an absolute bitch of a sister, okay? I'm getting bored."

He paused on his way to the door and turned to her. "I didn't do anything wrong, Illyana, and I think it's rather immature of you to insult my intelligence," his voice quiet but cold. He returned the phony smile she'd been flashing him. "Have a good evening," he called through the closing door.

Wrong, she thought, watching him sharply as he closed the door. It's effective to insult your intelligence. She reached down to the floor and picked up her book, breathing slowly -- eight counts in, four counts out, just like she'd been taught -- to steady herself. Gods, sometimes she hated this place.